


Amor Meus, Pondus Meum

by ossseous (ozean)



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozean/pseuds/ossseous
Summary: Perhaps if he knew the way her eyes squeezed shut, or how her head tilted back, or the harsh way she bit her lip--like doing so might stop all the sounds she wants to keep locked away from him--he wouldn’t be able to last long.





	Amor Meus, Pondus Meum

Perhaps the lack of light is for the best. The dimness works well on his behalf, after all. He’s not quite sure where he’d be if the lights were on--if he could take in every overwhelming detail that threatens to undo him much faster than he would like.

Like her hands grasping his chest. Her sharp knuckles, white and digging into his skin as she balls her hands into fists.

Or the way her hair falls in her face, fluttering out with each breath she sucks in.

Perhaps if he knew the way her eyes squeezed shut, or how her head tilted back, or the harsh way she bit her lip--like doing so might stop all the sounds she wants to keep locked away from him--he wouldn’t be able to last long.

But, perhaps unfortunately, there is enough light filtering through their little hotel room’s window sheers to know the outline of her. Her bony shoulders, or even more dangerous, the slope of her hips as she lifts them, over and over.

And he can’t even dream to ignore the lightest glint on her bottom lip. He imagines it must be sore, and getting sorer still with every scrape of her teeth over that broken skin. They had kissed, only once before they stumbled into the bed, yet he knows somehow he will remember how she tasted for the rest of his life. But now, as she gasps in a way that manages to sound so surprised, each time, that a feeling of pleasure could be wrenched out of her so easily, those lips are unattainable to him. Chewed on and hovering out of his reach.

Perhaps the darkness is not as much a blessing as he thought. The noises cast too much to the imagination. His own heavy breaths and hitched groans nearly as prominent as hers. The way she whispers “yes,” when he traces his hand down from her sternum, to her belly, to fit his thumb into that nearly nonexistent spot between them, where she grinds her hips in a magic little way that lights his fingertips on fire and singes down his spine. There is little room to know the way she takes him inside her. But he can learn how eager her body is to accept him, the skin warm and wet against his thumb.

He sits up to kiss blindly along her jaw, to dip little nips against her throat as she instinctively leans back. The gesture opens a whole expanse of her skin for him to revere, beaded with sweat as he kisses down to her chest. It doesn’t stop her from working her hips against him. There is a whole chorus operating in the movements between them, in sync in a way that Flynn is certain he is unworthy of as her body becomes a thrum of impossibility. 

He wonders if it's even physically possible for them to become even closer. 

Lucy grips her hands into his shoulders, leverages her weight against him as he pulls sucking, pinching little kisses aimlessly along her ribs. He finds himself more interested in biting softly into the handful of her breast and of memorizing the way one of her hands draws up through his hair, a slight, gentle warning before gripping the nape of his neck firmly.

She doesn’t quite yank his head back, but nudges him in the slightest direction and he is helpless to resist the unspoken command. And suddenly she’s back in his orbit as she pulls herself back up against him. He takes her weight, all of it as she sinks down on him and just grinds. It’s nearly suffocating, that faint dappled smell of their sweat, their saliva, all those little droplets of aroma that contain them as she draws her arms around him tighter and tighter. But he would readily drown in it as Lucy takes the shift back into position to breathe faint little words of encouragement into his ear. Like, “Yes,” whispered into his jaw. 

“Come on,” pressed into his cheek. 

“Just let it go,” shuddered out in a warm gust of breath against his lips. 

It’s too much for him. Who knew that was all he needed? Permission to let go.

He buries his face in her shoulder to breathe it all in deep, pulling her hips against him in some poor semblance of that rhythm she perfected. No one could have lasted long after that. She coaxed him almost gently through the climax of it all, drawing it out of him in the shivers and breathless groans he smothers in her chest.

When he slumps back to the bed, she stills. The only movement coming through all that darkness are the steadying breaths she takes. 

Flynn isn't quite sure she expects it when he flips them, lays her flat on her back into those damp sheets and slips down to the floor on his knees. She certainly doesn't expect it when he yanks her hips to the edge of the bed, if that flatly surprised “oh, okay,” is any indication.

But when he presses his palms against the soft skin at the back of her knees, there's only a silence that gets heavier and heavier with every inch he parts her legs.

He doesn't let there be a big teasing preamble, beyond a kiss to her hip, another to the crease of her thigh. He just hovers there a moment, let's the warmth of his breath drag those little imperceptible shudders from her. No, it's not teasing. 

It's waiting. 

When her hand snakes down, brushes along his ear to cradle the back of his skull, it's what he needs. Permission.

He sinks down. Revels in the bitter taste of her as he flattens his tongue, slips down as far as he can go. It’s almost an indulgence, he thinks, soft as silk and twice any hedonistic thrill he might have known before her as she bucks up against him.

He lets her legs drop, drap almost casually over his shoulders as he buries his face right between them. When he presses his thumb back to her eager, swollen clit, there's a sharp twisting change. She doesn't hold back. The way she shivers out, thighs shaking, heels digging into his shoulder blades spurs him deeper, to groan into the warmth of her until she is little more than sporadic shivers and shakes.

She pinches his chin as he lifts his head from between her legs, her thumb slipping over the messy wet slick of it before she falls back to the bed with a breathless laugh. There’s a sardonic, disbelieving bite to it.

“What?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer at first, nor does she move as he sinks down alongside her. There is an unspeakable quality to the feeling of her arm stretched out alongside his own, like the little hairs there might generate some static electricity strong enough to shock him out of this reality and back into the one he probably deserves--one without her by his side. But rather than pull away from it, he leans into it. For a moment he thinks he feels the tentative brush of her fingers against the back of his hand. But then the quiet breaks.

“It’s nothing,” she says. Lucy pulls herself up, the mattress creaking in some longing cry for her to stay. But from that faint light of the window, he can see her plucking up her clothes like weeds from a garden and pulling them on. There is no rush about it. Only a tired acceptance as she gradually puts herself back together again, becomes the person everyone else sees. He isn't necessarily sure which one is the true Lucy, but he can't deny the mounting affection he's gathered for the unkempt Lucy, the harried Lucy, the self conscious Lucy, the demanding Lucy.

“We should get back to the others.” She sits on the bed, pulling her hose up her legs, judging by the sound of soft fabrics coasting so gently against skin.

There are many things he wants to say. Screw the others. Let's stay here. Come back to bed.

But he swings his legs over the side, sidles up next to her. He bumps his shoulder against hers in the dark, its such a light touch he thinks she may not have even noticed it. “You're right. Let's go back.”


End file.
